Islands
by lDLETEEN
Summary: A cat has nine lives and humans have two. AU: Violate.
1. PART ONE

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling fan, rotating lazily above me until the grogginess of sleep drifted from my bones. I was aware of the sticky, humid heat that hung around me, just like every day; the fan providing little relief from the stale air. The ceiling was an off-white colour and I had practically memorised each water stain and crack in the paintwork by heart.

It was like Groundhog Day here – every single day just as mundane and tedious as the next. Who'd have thought it? I scratched my chest and felt the lumpy scars that marred my skin. They always itched whenever I thought too much about it. With a sigh, I heaved myself up and swung my legs around, placing my feet on the floor. I was getting pretty fucking sick of this heat.

I padded over to the tiny bathroom and flicked on the shower. I left it to run cold for a while before stripping and launching myself under the cool faucet. It felt like summer had finally let me out of its chokehold and my body shivered in appreciation. I had not yet understood why it was so hot here and I wasn't sure I ever would.

After the usual morning routine, I sat at the dining-table-for-one in my dingy open-plan apartment and chewed the skin on my bottom lip. I was always doing that; it was a terrible habit. Things got kind of lonely here. I had ventured to the bar a couple of times – they never bothered asking for ID because, let's face it, what was the worst that could happen? – but the people around here were just like the air – stale, dirty and irritating. I longed for some company.

When it felt like I was being gassed by the stagnant air of my own apartment, I decided it was time to venture outside. There really wasn't much to see around here; the ground was mainly dusty because of the lack of rain, or any weather besides stifling heat. I lived in a small apartment block which was only three floors high and I hadn't met any of the other people who lived there. I guessed either they had become recluses or perhaps nobody actually occupied the other rooms. I didn't blame them because the whole building sucked.

I walked down the block, sweat sticking my hair to my forehead, peering into shop windows for something to do or someone to talk to. I had lost track of how long I'd been here, in this place, but it felt like an eternity. It depressed me more to think about the rest of that eternity that I'd have to spend here. I dragged my feet, leaving tracks behind me, until I finally stopped outside the library. I always ended up here.

I pushed the door and slipped inside, closing it behind me. I was grateful for the coolness that spread over me as a result of the stone walls, floors and ceiling. Whoever built this place had the right idea. I continued forward, each footstep creating a short echo that bounced off the uneven walls. The librarian was in her usual place behind the counter, drawing patterns on her arm with a fine-liner pen. Every time I had visited the library she was creating works of art upon her skin. She was a wonderful artist and I had asked her if she was an artist before she came here. She said no, but that she would have liked to have been. Talking about the past seemed to make her sad, so I made a mental note not to talk about it again. Her name was Odessa and she had the brightest red hair you had ever seen. It was wild and curly and she had mistakenly cut it short, to her shoulders, so it tumbled outwards in a sort of lion's mane. She was pale and a few freckles were sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were bright green and inquisitive but she always looked like half of her was somewhere else. I liked talking to Odessa, but she wasn't very talkative and getting a conversation out of her proved tiring at the best of times.

I offered a small wave as I walked by her desk and she met my eyes, a small smile gracing her lips. She then returned to the intricate drawing she was sketching up her forearm. I wound between bookshelves like a slalom course and stopped at the poetry section. I knew most of these books by heart, cover to cover, but depressing poetry was my masochistic getaway from this place. Grabbing a book at random, I walked casually across to my usual spot – a beaten, red armchair with stuffing protruding from the holes in the cushion – only to find it already occupied.

There was a young girl, I guessed around sixteen years old, hunched up in my seat with her head resting on her knees. She looked up as she heard me approaching and it looked as though she had been crying, but I couldn't be sure. Her skin was pale, almost translucent and her eyes were deep and dark. Her dirty blonde hair fell into her face and her lips were full and pink. She looked so fragile but the hard look in her eyes suggested otherwise. She stared at me until I sat down in the chair a few feet from her. "Are you okay?" I spoke in a hushed tone, internally rolling my eyes at my lame question. Her eyes left mine and scanned the cover of the book I had picked up. She didn't relax but her posture changed; she almost seemed curious.  
"Poetry?" She spoke and her voice was full of authority and depth. I smirked at my misjudgement of this girl. She was anything but fragile. I gave a small nod in response to her question.  
"_The winds were withered in the stagnant air, and the clouds perished! Darkness had no need-_" I began to quote, somewhat dramatically until she cut me off.  
"_Of aid from them – she was the universe!" _She finished. I raised my eyebrows and I saw the hint of a smirk on her own face. "Was quoting Byron supposed to impress me?"  
I smiled and shook my head. "Why are you here?" I asked bluntly.  
She frowned and replied sarcastically. "The library is a public place, asshole. I have as much right to be here as you." She brought her legs down from in front of her and crossed one over the other, folding her arms across her chest. She wore a mustard yellow cardigan over her shirt-and-floral-dress ensemble. It was horribly matched but she wore it with such confidence that I could have believed it was a high end fashion trend. I also wondered how she wasn't melting with that many layers on.  
"I didn't mean the library," I clarified. "I meant why are you _here_, in this place?" Her face changed from moody teenager to a strange vulnerable expression.  
"I don't know," she admitted. "I just woke up and I was here. I've never been here in my life." She looked me in the eyes again and I was taken aback at how drawn to her I was. "Where exactly is 'here'?"  
I shrugged. "Who knows. It's just where we end up afterwards."  
Her brows knitted together. "I don't understand what you're saying. After what?"  
I swallowed the thickness in my throat. I didn't want to have to explain this to her. How do you tell a girl you just met that you're both dead? "I don't really know how to say it without sounding like a dick..." I slumped back in my seat and prayed to whoever was out there that I wouldn't have to say it to her. She was obviously one of those 'accidental' cases.  
She rolled her eyes so dramatically I almost laughed. "Just get on with it," she spat. "I'm not scared of anything." She sounded so defiant that I half believed her.  
"You're dead," I said plainly. Her expression didn't change. "This place... I don't know where we are. All I know is, this is where you go when you off yourself."  
"You mean... Suicide?" She sat forward in her chair and I saw understanding flash across her face.  
"Afraid so," I tried to sound casual, as if it was all a big practical joke. "Kind of ironic, isn't it? We kill ourselves to escape the piss and the shit and the vomit that is life and then we end up in this dump. Joke's on us, I guess." She looked at me and surprised me by smirking. This girl really wasn't fazed by anything, was she?

She perched on the edge of the armchair and rested her arms on her knees, looking directly at me with that hot-as-hell smirk plastered on her face. She really was beautiful. Tilting her head slightly to one side, she spoke to me again and I committed her voice to memory. "So, how'd you do it then?"

* * *

**I am still continuing with Freak Like Me, but this idea struck me and it was screaming to be written or else I'd forget. I have higher hopes for this idea. I hope you enjoy it!**


	2. PART TWO

_She perched on the edge of the armchair and rested her arms on her knees, looking directly at me with that hot-as-hell smirk plastered on her face. She really was beautiful. Tilting her head slightly to one side, she spoke to me again and I committed her voice to memory. "So, how'd you do it then?"_

I laughed and studied her face in awe. I had just told her that she was dead – and had taken her own life, no less – yet here she was, asking for my suicide story as if it were normal chit-chat. "I think that's a story for another time," I plastered a smile on my face, hoping it looked sincere. I felt my chest itch a little. Her eyes turned devious.  
"Who said you'd see me again? This is a big place, I imagine," she raised her eyebrows matter-of-factly. "There are probably millions of tortured souls who offed themselves."  
I shrugged nonchalantly. "Just a feeling." She stood up, smoothed her wrinkled dress in an attempt to look dignified and began to walk away, her heavy leather boots creating an enormous racket on the solid stone floor. "Wait!" I called and she stopped in her tracks, turning to face me with her eyebrows raised. She was so fierce; like a lion trapped inside the body of a teenager. "What's your name?"  
Her lips pulled up on one side of her face in a smirk. "I'll tell you another time."  
My expression matched hers. "How do you know you'll see me again?"  
She turned thoughtful. "Who knows," she shrugged. "If we meet each other again, I guess it's fate. If not, then we both just go on like we never met." She flashed a smile that showed all of her perfect little teeth and with a flick of her hair and heavy, determined footsteps; she slipped out into the crazy, unknown world we had been spat into.

The next week, Odessa had decided to venture out of the library, as it was her birthday and she wanted to celebrate. I hadn't a clue how she even knew it was her birthday, as times and dates didn't really serve a purpose here. Nonetheless, I agreed to join her at the bar a few towns over, which she requested specifically because she was frightened of her father catching her drinking alcohol. I didn't know what she was talking about half the time so I just nodded and said I would be there.

I wasn't much for heavy social interaction, so I slipped into the bar and kept my head down (not that I would run into anybody that I knew.) I spotted Odessa almost immediately; her flamboyantly coloured hair made her stick out like a sore thumb. She turned on her stool at the bar and smiled as I approached. "Hey, happy birthday!" I said with as much enthusiasm as I could and she kissed me lightly on the cheek. She slid a bottle of beer over to me and a curled my hand around it.  
"Thank you. Can you believe I'm a year older? I don't feel it." Her face was dreamy and I wondered sometimes if she was constantly inebriated or if it was just her general nature.  
"You don't look a day over sixteen," I joked, taking a swig of my beer and relishing the cool liquid running down my dry throat. The heat lessened during the night but it was still uncomfortable. I also wondered how old Odessa really was; her demeanour was so childlike but I couldn't place how old she might be. I made a mental note to ask her one day if the conversation ran dry. Odessa smiled at me, stretching her thin lips over her teeth and chugged her entire glass of clear liquid. I couldn't tell if it was water or vodka but she didn't even flinch as she glugged the whole lot. I laughed to myself and turned, leaning my back and my elbows against the bar and observing the rest of the people around me.

It was a quiet bar that reminded me of what I imagined an English pub to be like. When I was alive, I had taken to reading tons of British literature and had become infatuated with the lifestyle. That was before the darkness took over. I took a long drink from my bottle and felt the coolness slosh right down to my stomach. Odessa and I didn't talk much for the following hour or two, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. She was happy in her thoughts, drinking her vodka-water-mystery and I was throwing back bottle after bottle of the cheap beer that kept appearing by my elbow on the bar.

It was a few hours later, through my drunken, hazy vision that I saw her appear in front of me. I squinted and tried to regain focus and failed miserably. But I was eighty percent sure that she was right there in front of me, grinning and smirking sexily in front of my face. She shook her head, laughing to herself. "You're a mess," she raised an eyebrow.  
"I've only had a couple of beers," I waved her off, evidently slurring my words. She glanced at the generous collection of empty beer bottles by my side and nodded sarcastically.  
"Come on," she spoke like one would address a small child. She linked her tiny arm through mine and guided me out of the bar. I didn't look back for Odessa mainly in fear of tripping over my own numb feet. We walked down the street for a while, her supporting most of my weight and me screaming in my head to sober the fuck up.

"So I guess this is fate, then?" I concentrated very hard on getting my words out correctly. I wasn't too sure how successful that was. I heard her musical laugh flow through the channel of my left ear.  
"I don't believe in that bullshit," she scoffed, still dragging me along the sidewalk because my feet refused to cooperate in the way that I wanted them to. Her hands felt strangely warm against me – impossible, as we were both dead – and I could smell her vanilla scent with every warm breeze that fluttered past my nostrils. After guiding me across an unknown street, she took me under the barrier of a dark, unfamiliar stretch of land. The combination of the dark and my beer goggles made me completely disorientated and I couldn't even tell which way was up or down. Suddenly, my feet went out from beneath me and my backside landed heavily on a pile of warm bricks. I frowned, blinked a few times and then looked up to see her standing only an inch or two away from me, judging my face.

"Was that your girlfriend back there?" the question surprised me. I shook my head unsteadily. "Do you want her to be?"  
I frowned at her. "I don't think so... I never really thought about it..." I was slurring less now. Good; it was about time I sobered up and stopped being an embarrassment.  
"That probably means no, then," she said matter-of-factly and seated herself snugly beside me. This girl obviously wasn't fazed by the notion of personal space. Truthfully, I didn't mind. I hadn't had this much human contact since I was alive. Barely even then. "Do you think she's pretty?" She looked at my face expectantly.  
I nodded truthfully. "Yeah, I do. But not in _that _way." I saw her nod in my peripherals. "It was her birthday today."  
"What's the date?" she asked interestedly. She sank back when I shrugged my shoulders.  
"I don't think she knows, either. She's... Not all there." I watched her smirk. "I didn't catch your name."  
"That's because I didn't throw it," she smirked harder. I laughed loudly and suddenly, like a bark. What a lame joke.  
"Tate," I stuck out my hand to her and she eyed it with interest. She placed her hand in mine, which was tiny in comparison, and shook it firmly.  
"Violet," she replied. She looked at my face with an expression I couldn't quite decipher and she still didn't let go of my hand. I relished the feeling of her soft skin in the palm of my hand. My chest scars itched like hell and for the first time in half an eternity, I began to miss being alive.


	3. PART THREE

We talked endlessly about anything and everything for what felt like an immeasurable number of hours. I had sobered up and was forming coherent sentences, much to my relief. Violet kept asking about my death and my former life and ignored all my attempts to skirt around the subject. I didn't feel like she was being rude, though; she was persistent and determined and devious and I loved it.

I tried the whole you-tell-me-your-story-I'll-tell-you-mine trick, but she was just as smart as I had assumed and she didn't fall for it. She simply gave me a tight-lipped shake of the head but her eyes were playful.

The sun began to rise in the east and I was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. It was so easy to lose track of time here – I'm pretty sure I had never encountered a clock – but especially when you finally found someone you were happy to talk to for so long. I had met this girl all of twice and she was already my one reason to get up and leave the house. I hoped she hadn't developed some crazy mind-reading power when crossing over because otherwise she'd think I was a complete psychopath. I guess I probably was.

She studied my face and ghosted her fingers on my face, tracing the circles under my eyes. "You're tired," she stated. I simply let a smile play on my lips because I didn't want her to leave, but I was exhausted. Drinking always made me tired which was why I avoided doing it in excess. Old habits die hard, even in death. "Let's go," she decided and hopped down off the brick ledge. I followed suit, amused in my delirium at the numbness in my backside. We walked back the way we had come and slipped beneath the barrier again, following the direction of the rising sun.

I wasn't aware of how long it took us to get back to my apartment building; considering the bar we had left Odessa in was several towns over, I was surprised I'd had the energy to make it all the way back on foot. Violet came to a halt at the door with the flaky red paint job and electronic key pad. "This is my stop," I said awkwardly, truly not understanding the strange, fluttering disappointment in my stomach at her having to leave. She smiled and nodded. "Where are you staying?" I probed.  
She shrugged her tiny shoulders. "Wherever I end up."  
I worried at my bottom lip; I didn't like the thought of her roaming around endlessly on her own. I suddenly felt an obligation to protect her from this place that we had both gotten ourselves into. The idea was stupid – I mean, we were already dead. What exactly was the worst that could happen? Still, I ignored my rationale and tilted my head slightly to the side before speaking. "Want to come inside?"  
"I'm not going to sleep with you," she said bluntly, raising one eyebrow at me in an are-you-kidding-me kind of way. I laughed loudly again, like I had done earlier, in that way it seemed only she could make me. She raised her other eyebrow to match the first.  
"I didn't mean like that. I don't think you're that type of girl," I flashed her a smirk before turning my back and punching in the four-number combination on the keypad of the door. The light glowed a dim green colour and I heard the click of the door being unlocked. I pulled it towards me and stepped aside, swinging my arm before me, gesturing that she should enter the building. She rolled her eyes at my dramatic chivalry and stepped over the threshold.

The building was already beginning to heat up with the rising sun and I tugged at the neck of my shirt uncomfortably. I noticed Violet was wearing a long-sleeved shirt again and began to sweat more just thinking about how warm she must be. I led the way towards the rickety elevator on the left wall of the foyer. I pressed the button to head up and the doors opened automatically. We both stepped into the cramped space, full of stagnant air and I pressed the button for my floor. The elevator moved excruciatingly slowly; I had figured that since no one really needed to rush about things anymore that they never bothered fitting a speedier one. I was hyper-aware of how close we were; her tiny frame was squished up against mine. I felt my palms sweat again and that pathetic, aching need for physical contact returned. I wondered if she felt the same or maybe she hadn't been dead long enough to miss it.

I was relieved to put a little bit of space between us when we trudged out of the elevator and along the corridor, until we reached the door of my apartment. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of nerves and embarrassment at my dingy home. I stuck the key in the lock and shoved against the door; the cheap, hollow wood was painted the colour of mint sauce and the apartment number had long since fallen off.

I let myself in and Violet followed closely behind, her dark eyes darting around and observing her surroundings. Her expression was indifferent and I mentally shook myself for feeling nervous around this girl. I barely knew her.

"Can I have a drink?" she asked and I grinned, as she had requested it just as I was about to ask. She always surprised me yet, at the same time, was exactly how I expected. I nodded and strode over to my mini refrigerator. I opened it and observed its mainly empty state. I grabbed two sodas and closed it, heading through to the sitting-room-type area where Violet was already making herself comfortable on the sofa. I handed her the cool can of carbonated drink and she took it gladly, popping the can open with a satisfying fizzle and slurping loudly. I laughed as I sat opposite her and thirstily glugged my own.

"Have you had a girlfriend since you've been here?" Violet asked suddenly and I was once again surprised by her boldness.  
I shrugged my shoulders. "Not really. There aren't many people around." I hoped I didn't sound pathetic having not had a girlfriend.  
"Do you think it's possible?" She took another sip of her soda. "To have those sorts of feelings, I mean."  
I shrugged lamely again. "I guess. Yeah. I don't know, maybe?" She rolled her eyes at my nonsensical statement.  
"I had this one boyfriend when I was alive," the sentence seemed to sit bitterly on her tongue. "I thought I loved him. He thought I was crazy." She grinned toothily. "I guess I am." She placed her can down on the coffee table in front of us and her hand seemed to stroke along the inside of her wrist of its own accord. I studied her for a minute or two before she looked up at me through her lashes; her eyes seemed darker and more mysterious. "Wanna know how I died?" she offered, almost excitedly. I put my can down too and sat back, trying to appear relaxed and passive.  
"Sure," I said, resting my left ankle on my right knee. My eyes followed her hands as she tugged up the sleeves of her cotton shirt. My eyes widened slightly at the sight of her skin. There were sloppy, lumpy scars marring the pale skin of her inner-wrists. I could see ghosts of older scars; they were neater – line after line of perfect, silvery scars. But these ones were newer. I could tell, as they hadn't yet faded to that translucent colour and were still angry, noticeable, puckered wounds. They criss-crossed through each other and I imagined how deep the cuts would have to have been to create such heavy battle wounds. The thought made my stomach cringe. I looked back up to her face and her eyes were wild.  
"I used to cut myself," she said breathily. "It was an addiction. I started when my dad cheated on my mom with one of his students..." Her face contorted into a look of pure hatred and disgust. I couldn't decide whether it was aimed at her father or the girl he'd slept with. "My mom literally caught him in the act – balls deep in some slut that was young enough to be my older sister. What's worse is that my mom had only had this brutal miscarriage a few months earlier." I didn't know why she was telling me all this; I figured perhaps it was a diabolical case of word vomit as her words were tumbling out before she could even stop herself. "That's when I started. I'd seen people do it in movies and it looked easy and I did it and it worked. I loved the pain and I loved the blood and it was so... Liberating. It relieved everything; just drawing that blade over my skin and watching my troubles seep out." She spoke so passionately and I was reminded of the few times I too had cut myself when I was alive. I had made myself stop before I made it a habit. "Anyway," she shook her head, obviously going off-track. "My boyfriend – I guess now he's my ex – Evan, well I really thought I loved him. Then he started getting all weird and distant and I panicked. I thought he was cheating on me because I'd seen it happen so easily with my mom and dad, even in marriage. So I started asking questions and he got really mad and said that I was too clingy and I was obsessive. And I mean, dude, I was obviously fucked up. I hurt myself on purpose to deal with my problems and I was so fucking sad all the time. So I took that shit personally. And he dumped me by text and avoided me and made everyone at school think I was a frigid, crazy bitch. So I left school early one day, headed straight home and ran a bath. Then I got in the bath and I got my blade and I cut and cut and cut and cut," I could see the sweat beading down her temples, both from the heat and from the exertion of emotions. Everything inside me hurt to watch her face contort with distress and to imagine her when she was alive, fierce but fragile Violet, so broken up and damaged inside by her own family and a boy she just wanted to love her. I fought back pathetic tears from my eyes and slipped around to sit beside her, rubbing soothing circles on her back with my hand. I wasn't sure if she noticed, but I felt better in doing it anyway. "And I just lay there and bled and I guess I died like that. I think I died crying," she laughed in an ironic sort of way as she wiped away tears she hoped I wouldn't see with the sleeve of her shirt, staining it a darker colour. She sighed heavily and leaned her head against me.

I let her calm down, still rubbing her back like a small child because in that moment, that was what she felt like. Then I made her lie down on the sofa and her eyelids fluttered shut without me telling her to. I watched her until her breathing slowed and I could hear tiny snuffles coming from her nose. I brushed her hair from her face in a foreign, tender gesture and made my way to bed. My thoughts and dreams were filled with visions of Violet: sad, lonely, heartbroken and betrayed. The need to protect her grew stronger within me and I knew that I would never let a single soul hurt her ever again, not even herself.


	4. PART FOUR

I woke up earlier than I usually would the next morning. The air was stickier than I was comfortable with and I could tell it would be far more humid today than on an average day. I peeled my shirt off my already sweating torso and tossed it aside, padding out of my room and suddenly remembering last night's events when I saw Violet sleeping soundly on my sofa.

I felt a pang of sadness in my dead heart as I recalled her confession. I crept over to the sofa and stood at one end, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Her not-quite-blonde, not-quite-brown hair was fanned around her head wildly and she was curled tightly in the foetal position. It was nice to see her face so relaxed – it was like a fresh piece of paper; no creases, no smudges, just the page in its purest form.

On cue, as if she'd read my mind somehow, her eyelids fluttered open delicately and I watched her eyes focus on the room then roll over to me. I tried to make it look like I'd only just walked in; I was endlessly conscious of her thinking I was a creep. I really wasn't, it's just that she fascinated me.

She sat up carefully and gave me a measured look. She almost looked embarrassed. I gave her a relaxed, reassuring smile and offered her breakfast. She shook her head and smoothed her hair down self-consciously. "I am so sorry about last night," she muttered. "Ignore everything I said. I think I was just tired," she laughed to brush off the previous night's events but I still saw the tightness in her eyes. I knew she was angry at herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. I knew because I felt exactly the same sometimes. We were more alike than I could have imagined.

I rolled my eyes at her. "You don't need to apologise. You can tell me anything." I instantly regretted that statement; we barely knew each other and I thought I was coming on too strong. What was wrong with me? Obviously, lack of social interaction had taken its toll on me and I was basically just an imbecile now.

Violet didn't want to talk about it anymore so I respected her wishes and dropped it. "Can I use your shower?" she asked and I was glad she did. Not in a perverted way, but because I was happy she'd finally noticed the heat and maybe she would stop wearing seven layers of clothing every day. I nodded and showed her to the bathroom, handing her a clean towel. I heard the sound of the water running and I went back to my room to wait for her to finish.

I was lay back on my bed, re-reading the last chapter of Wuthering Heights – I knew it was completely and utterly lame, but it reminded me of my high school days, so I liked to read it for ironic, sadistic memories – when she entered my room, towel wrapped around her petite frame and droplets of water from her hair dripping onto the linoleum floor. I lowered my book and observed her; even when I was conscious about not being a freak, I couldn't stop looking at her like that. She smiled slightly as she realised I was in the room but she didn't move from the doorway.

I was distracted completely by the shimmer on her skin from the moisture and how she barely had an ounce of fat on her, yet she had curves in all the right places. She was literally a walking angel. How had she come to be in such a dirty, uncomfortable place when she was so perfect? I snapped my mouth shut and I saw her watching me with a bemused expression. "Wuthering Heights?" she snorted, jutting her chin in the direction of my book. I looked back at the cover to give myself time to compose myself and smirked.  
"Yeah. Have you read it?" I knew she had read it.  
She rolled her eyes. "Of course I've read it." Of course she'd read it. "I always hated Cathy. Such a whiner."  
"Nah, Cathy was totally hot," I grinned as she raised an incredulous eyebrow.  
"She was a bitch. Toying with Heathcliff's heart!" she placed one hand to her chest dramatically.  
"That's true," I agreed more seriously. "If you love someone, you should never hurt them. Ever."  
She looked directly at me with her chocolate eyes, some foreign emotion there that I didn't have time to pick up before it disappeared. "I know right?"

As soon as she left, I missed her. I missed her all day and I missed her in the evening and I missed her when I went to bed that night. I didn't understand what was happening to me and why I longed for her presence so much. Even when I was alive, I'd been a bit of a loner. That was mainly because the other kids were afraid of me... I guess they had reason to be. But when I came here, I'd accepted the inevitable – I wasn't going to suddenly be popular. I was used to being on my own.

At first, I thought it was just company in general that I was missing, not Violet in particular. Or maybe it was because Violet was a girl and I become instantly attached to the first girl that gave me the time of day. But I had Odessa, too; I didn't want to be with her twenty-four-seven. Violet hadn't even told me when I'd see her again. I wanted to kick myself in the crotch for being pathetic. She was just some girl. The voice in the back of my head screamed, "She is definitely _not_ just _some girl!_" But I ignored it and locked it away in a mental cupboard.

A few weeks passed and I hadn't seen or heard from Violet at all since the night she slept over. I began to accept maybe fate wasn't on our side and that perhaps we were never really destined to know each other any better. I shrouded the disappointment in my cold, dead heart and moved on. I had managed to acquire a car from a crazy guy with a drinking problem. I was aimlessly walking down the street and he stumbled in front of me, blocking my path and making me jump ten feet in the air. He slurred his words and showed me to his car, which was an old Honda with peeling paintwork and the aerial was missing from the roof. The guy looked desperate to get rid of it and offered it to me for free. Warning bells went off in my head at that – nobody gives things away for free without there being a catch – but I accepted nonetheless. He didn't come after me and burly men were not sent to my door asking for money. So now I had a car, which was probably the most excitement I had experienced since I had arrived here.

I woke up one morning and it was strangely cool and dreary. I glanced outside and saw that it was raining lightly; that thin kind of rain that soaks you right through to the bone. I decided that today could only go in my favour, so I dressed and packed some clothes, my toothbrush and the remains of edible food in my refrigerator into an old duffel bag and threw it into the back of my car, folding myself into the driver's seat.

I had no idea where I was going but I wanted to explore this place. I was eager to see if it had an end, like a border or something between the living and the dead. The thought of an eternity spent cooped up in my dingy apartment building made me want to bash my head off a wall repeatedly. I buckled up and set off, heading south out of town. I couldn't be happier to see the dusty streets, now flattened and moist by the welcome rain, grow smaller and smaller in my rear-view mirror. With every mile I drove away, the desire to come back lessened. I wondered if I ever would. There had to be somewhere else out there for me.

I had found a stash of old cassette tapes in the glove box when rooting in there a few days before, so I clumsily shoved one into the outdated music system and turned the volume low, for some background noise. I drummed my hands on the steering wheel and took a deep breath. The air smelled of damp and rain and I couldn't help, in the back of my mind, wishing Violet was in the passenger seat beside me.

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**Sorry this one was a little boring. The next couple might be like filler chapters, before the real good stuff begins. Stick with me! Thank you for all your wonderful reviews. I hope 2013 is kind to you all. ALSO who watched Wednesday's AHS? I can't cope. That scene. I can't. (You know the one I mean.)**


	5. PART FIVE

I drove south for a few days, stopping occasionally at dingy motels for the night and then resorting to sleeping in my car when my money was running low. I loved the freedom this little road trip had given me; it was a welcome break from my thoughts and for the first time in what felt like forever I had a little bit of hope that there was something better waiting for me out there. My mother had always been religious – or, at least she pretended to be – and so I had grown up believing that when I died, I had to end up somewhere better than the filthy goddamn horror show that was planet Earth. My mother would have said: "Suicide is a sin!" in her out-of-place, southern drawl. I suppose that definitely explained the shithole I had been spat into as a result of killing myself.

I was driving down a long, never-ending road purely made of dirt and dust. I had to clean my windscreen every now and then otherwise my vision was completely obscured by the residue it left on the window. The sun was out again today, so I had rolled both my window and the passenger's window right down, the breeze flowing in and ruffling my hair. The sight was boring – the land was so dry and cracked that not even a blade of grass could sprout here; the lack of greenery annoyed me slightly. My eyes flickered down to the fuel meter on the dashboard and felt that sense of amusement you get when something coincidental happens, spotting a gas station about thirty metres ahead. I pulled in slowly, glad to give my feet a rest from the pedals and my stomach growled, reminding me I had other bodies to fuel too.

I slid around the side of the car and hooked the gas pump into the slot. I leant against the pillar behind me, tipping my head back and inhaling deeply through my nose. When I looked down to check how much fuel I'd put into the car, I spotted a young girl walking down the side of the dirt road, looking in both directions very frequently. I laughed internally, wondering if she seriously thought she'd bump into anyone this far in the middle of nowhere.

I grabbed the fuel pump to take it out when I heard her approach me; tiny, click-clacking footsteps growing louder as she delicately ran up to my car. It was only when she slammed her hands on the hood of my car, making me jump, that I looked up at her and my heart had a crazy spasm.

The dark blonde hair, the to-the-knees floral dress with the mustard cardigan tied sloppily around her waist and the fierce eyes as strong as black coffee. I saw the recognition in her eyes and her posture changed almost imperceptibly, but I noticed it. I noticed every little thing about her.

"Tate," she said, like one would speak to a long-lost friend. I tried not to be angry with her, but I still felt a phantom sense of betrayal in my blood. I had no rational reason for it – she was never obliged to stay in contact with me. I supposed I had never done a rational thing in all my life though, so I accepted my behaviour as part of my nature. I just looked at her, fuel pump in hand and my eyebrows were raised. All I really wanted to do was touch her – her hair, her hand, her face... I craved the impossible warmth of her touch.

She looked down at her shoes like a shy child. I hung the fuel pump back on its hook and closed the petrol cap on the side of the car. She looked up at me through her lashes. "Where have you been?" I finally spoke, my tone flat and harsher than I intended. Sometimes it was like I wasn't in control of my own mind or body. I frightened myself.  
"Travelling," she shrugged.  
I felt my nostrils flare. I was incredulous. How could she just go? How could she just leave without telling me? "And you didn't think to let me know?" I demanded. She rebuked at my tone and she became defensive, putting her back up, showing the Violet that I knew and so wrongly adored.  
"What are you, my keeper?" She snorted. In a flash of blind rage, I shot around the car and was in front of her face before she could blink. She looked up at me and I felt the essence of fear seep from her pores. She could say she wasn't scared until she was blue in the face, but I knew what fear felt like. I could practically smell it coming from other people. I had spent the entirety of my high school education catching whiffs of fear from my peers and I revelled in it. I fought back the smirk threatening to wreak havoc on my face.

"What were you doing in the middle of the road?" I changed the subject. She looked confused and it made me want her even more. It was like catching prey – confuse them, then go in for the kill. It was strange how I was still fucked up even in death.  
Her eyebrows knitted together. "Trying to catch a ride, dumbass."  
I laughed loudly. "There's no one around for miles. Trust me, I know," I jutted my chin towards my car. She looked thoughtful as I turned my head in the direction of the sun, feeling a sneeze tickle the insides of my nostrils. I closed my eyes as I sneezed hard and when I opened them, Violet had disappeared from before me and was lounging in the passenger seat of my car, legs lolling out of the open window and her little red Converse nudging me playfully.

I rolled my eyes and jogged to the little building where I supposed I would pay for my fuel. Porta-loos were lined to the left of the building and the place looked deserted. I poked my head around the door, which had dust settled along its frame as though it hadn't been moved for a while and confirmed my suspicions. I was glad it was empty, as now I had a full tank of free gas. I sauntered lightly back to the car and pulled two cans out of the trunk, filling them with fuel too and stashing them back in my car. This was probably dangerous, but we were already dead, so I found it hard to care.

I slid into the driver's seat and rested my palms gently on my thighs, looking straight ahead. I could feel her staring at me and I knew that if I looked at her, any resolve I had would fizzle away with the smirk I knew was undoubtedly plastered on her face. "So, did you hear the rumour?" she asked excitedly, rummaging around in the little compartment beneath the dashboard, fingering between empty wrappers and old receipts and other junk the previous owner had left behind.  
"What rumour?" I replied, my tone suggested I was less interested than I actually was. I was interested in everything she had to say.  
She made a squeal of delight and sat back up quickly, unwrapping a piece of gum and tossing it into her mouth. I turned my nose up at her, thinking about how old that gum must be. She shrugged and chewed sloppily on purpose, grinning at me. I fought back a smile in return. "You haven't heard? There's a way out," she leant forward, eyes wild with excitement. "I don't know how, but that's what I'm trying to find out."  
"You're an idiot," I rolled my eyes and buckled my seatbelt, eying hers. "Put your seatbelt on." She turned grumpily and fastened her belt, folding her arms across her chest like a child.  
"You ever believed in reincarnation?" She muttered, blowing a bubble and popping it with her tongue. I tried not to be distracted by how her lips would taste and focused on starting the ignition and pulling out of the gas station. I grunted in a non-committal response. "I used to," she continued, staring dreamily out of the window as we drove. I admired her hair fanning around her head in the breeze. "This theory explains it. Don't you see?" She turned to look at me. "We can escape this place and be reborn, back on the other side. It's rare, but it happens. Wouldn't you like the chance to live again? Don't you regret ending it all?" I looked back at the road, gripping the steering wheel tighter. I didn't want to have to admit everything to her. I didn't want to tell her my story because I so desperately wanted, no, _needed_ for her to like me. I needed her to like me the way I liked her and I knew that if she knew what had happened to me and what I did, then she'd run away from me forever this time.  
"Can we talk about this another time?" My stomach grumbled extremely conveniently, providing my exit from this subject of conversation. "Are you hungry?" She looked at me with tightness in her eyes and I knew that my panic had not escaped her. I both cursed her for her observance and swelled with happiness that she seemed as in-tune with me as I was with her. She nodded and looked out of her window again. I didn't strike up any more conversation until we finally reached a diner an hour or so later.

I parked the car and tried to get to her side of the car before she opened the door – I wanted to do the cliché gentleman move and open it for her – but she'd already jumped out of the car before I could make it. I tried not to look disappointed. She also entered the diner first and slid in the booth in the farthest corner. She was annoyed at something, probably me, but I chose to ignore it. I knew I would become angry with myself if she told me I had done something wrong.

I sat opposite her and studied her face. She looked up at me, right in the eyes, in a way that made my palms sweat and my stomach twist. "Do you trust me?" She asked.  
"Undoubtedly," I replied a little too quickly and honestly. I trusted her with the whole of my dead, un-beating heart but I wasn't inclined to tell her that.  
"Then do you promise to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?" She smiled slightly and rested her elbow on the table between us, sticking her pinky finger out towards me. "Pinky swear?"  
I felt nervous at the impending question but laughed amusedly at her playful behaviour. I curled my pinky finger around hers. "Pinky swear," I confirmed. She didn't release my finger as she asked the question I'd been dreading.  
"Why'd you kill yourself?"  
I didn't beat around the bush this time. "I massacred half of my high school," I said, emotionless. There, I had dropped the bombshell. I would wait and let the chips fall where they may.

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**Updates might be a little slow til the end of January (not too slow, hopefully) because it's unfortunately exam time and I'm currently cramming my brain with psychology and law. **


	6. PART SIX

Her grip on my pinky finger didn't loosen by any measure. She looked me dead in the eyes with that indescribable stare as I could imagine the wheels turning in her brain. Her un-plucked eyebrows raised a minute amount.

"For real?" she almost sounded impressed. "I wouldn't have thought you'd have it in you." Her face broke out into an inappropriate grin. Well, inappropriate for the situation. I supposed I would have been glad to see that grin anywhere. Something inside me relaxed, but my stomach was still in knots.  
"I was a little nuts," I muttered sheepishly, causing her to laugh. This girl never ceased to blow me flat on my back with amazement. Did _nothing _faze her?  
"A little?" she snorted. "What possessed you to do that? How did you...? Tell me everything."

Violet was far too excited about my horror story. I still wasn't convinced I even wanted to tell her anything else. She knew I was crazy already, but the details would just emphasise my mental instability. I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat and began to speak. "I wish I could tell you I was bullied or something," I began, folding my hands in front of me nervously. "But the truth is, I didn't get into any trouble with anyone at school. I just blended in – I was quiet; I liked to read... I spent most of my time in the library. That's probably why people were so shocked that it was me." I felt myself becoming immersed in my own flashback, the din of the diner fading away until all I could hear was my own storytelling.

"I hated high school so much. The people there were... Ridiculous. I couldn't believe that people could be so terrible and live with themselves. Equally, I pitied the good people, the pure souls. They didn't deserve to have to face those shitheads every day. They needed to get away, to a better place, away from the piss and the shit and the vomit..." I was completely gone – sucked back into my former life. I couldn't even see Violet anymore; I'd closed my eyes so tightly that all I could see were the kaleidoscope patterns behind my eyelids. "I'd dreamt about doing it. I'd told my therapist about it. I'd planned it so meticulously you wouldn't even believe it. Then I just woke up one day and I knew. I knew that it had to happen that day. I showered, got dressed and did all my usual morning routine. No one suspected a thing. I strode right in to school and shot the first people I saw. After those first gunshots, I heard the entire school in uproar. I could practically smell the fear permeate the air. It was liberating! I'd never had so much control! So much power!" I knew I was talking loudly now; I imagined people beginning to stare. My palms were sweating with excitement and adrenaline at the recollections.

"I went to the library and they'd barricaded the door from the inside. There was another entrance, so I made my way there, letting my footsteps echo through the halls. They knew I was coming for them. I turned the handle but someone was behind the door, trying to stop me from getting in. I paused for a minute before shooting three bullets through the door. I got inside and I couldn't see anybody, but I knew they were there. I could feel the terror and tension that was radiating off their very bodies. I killed them all off, one by one. One of the jocks climbed out from under a table and tried to stop me. I acknowledged the gall he had, confronting a psychopath with a gun," I took a breath, remembering his face right before I pulled the gun on him. "I shot him right between the eyes. The last one pissed herself out of fear. I mean, she literally pissed. I think that just spurred me on, because I flipped the table over that she was hiding under and shot her."

"Jesus fucking Christ, what did those people ever do to you?" Violet finally spoke, not even bothering to disguise the disgust in her voice. My eyes focused back in on the present as I was startled by her words. Wasn't it obvious?  
"Nothing! That's just it! I barely knew them. They seemed like nice people." She frowned and widened her eyes, shifting as though she were going to slide out of the booth. I put my hand on the table to stop her. "No, Violet, please. Don't you see? I was trying to save them from their shitty lives and that shitty school and this shitty world. I killed the people I liked so that they could go somewhere better and wouldn't have to suffer." I looked at her so intensely, hoping she could see the sense that I saw. Her eyes were blank.

"What I can't believe," she began slowly. "Is that you can even justify yourself. You think you saved those people? What about their families, Tate? Their friends? By taking their lives for 'the greater good'," she emphasised the phrase by making sarcastic quotation marks with her hands. "You ruined a hell of a lot more lives. Christ, Tate..." Violet placed the palm of her hand against her forehead in exasperation. I'd never looked at it that way before and suddenly I began feeling ashamed. I looked down at the table. "So, what, did you shoot yourself after that?"  
"I went home and the police busted my house. I was just sat on my bed waiting for them. There I was, hands up, about half a dozen guns pointed at my chest in case I made a wrong move. I could have complied and gone to jail, but why would I go to the trouble of freeing all those people of rotting on this earth just to rot myself? Before they even knew what was happening, I grabbed my gun from under my jacket and shot myself in the chest. As soon as they spotted my gun, they started shooting at me too, but I'd already done the damage. They just caused a few extra scars and made more mess."

My mouth was dry from talking so much as well as the anxiety that paralysed my body. I knew Violet wouldn't ever talk to me again after this and I'd be forced to spend the rest of eternity on my own. I knew I probably deserved it; I deserved worse. I heard her sigh heavily and looked up at her through my lashes. She looked disappointed rather than angry but I wasn't sure which was worse.

"What are you thinking?" I half-whispered, scared of the response.  
"I'm still digesting that interesting story," she replied, running her fingers through her dark blonde hair. "On the subject of digesting, I'm starving." She smiled a little, picking up the laminated menu card from the holder and pretending to read it. There was still tightness in her eyes – I couldn't decide if it was fear, anger, disappointment... Maybe a mixture of all of them. I was determined to prove to her that I was a person worth knowing. I couldn't stand to see her go now. I had lived one crappy life and died a crappy death; I didn't want to have to spend eternity paying for it, although I deserved to.

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**Whoops, disappeared for longer than expected. Sorry this chapter sucks dog buns, but you know when you have the _perfect_ ending for a story and you just can't wait to get to the climax? Lol I'm trying to pace myself.  
**


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